My girlfriends and other animals

Chapter Two

Le Frog

The rest of the holiday became a blur. Possibly because I spent most of it barricaded in my chalet bedroom twitching to images of Gill’s wondrous hallelujah’s whilst listening to the New Seekers – ‘I want to teach the world to sing’.

‘I just don’t know what’s wrong with him.’  Mother was discussing my Howard Hughes like reluctance to leave our Chalet bedroom with Mrs Musgrave and the rest of the Coffee and Walnut cake brigade. ‘I mean have you ever been before, it’s so much fun, of course you have to maintain standards, but there’s so much to do and it’s all inclusive, as much as you like’

As much as you like. That’s it mother, as much as I like. Returning to the land of beige didn’t seem anywhere near as depressing now I had my new companion. Gill and I would spend all of our free time together hidden away from the rest of my classmates in the child friendly concrete tunnel that had until now only claimed one council kid’s life. Each child psychologist agreed that my ‘imaginary’ friend was just that and I would soon grow out of it. Slade’s ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’, Mud’s ‘Lonely this Christmas’ and Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ afforded me only a modicum of comfort during my years of psychological therapy. It wasn’t until the Christmas of 1976 when Johnny Mathis started singing about Children being born that Mother decided enough was enough. Imaginary or not, psychologically disturbed or not, I needed a pair glasses and a new record collection. Please don’t do it Mother. They said it was because I sat too close to the television. I knew however that Gill and I had spent far too much time together and  my eyes had spun round to the back of my head. Either way I was whisked off to Mothers optometrist for the fitting of two gold top milk bottles that signalled to the rest of the world that I was happy to be publicly ridiculed for the rest of my life. Years of therapy instantly eradicated. I blockaded myself in my bedroom, my space hopper and assorted piles of Shoot magazine my only defence against the inevitable incursion by Mother. Noddy, show me a sign. Les, guide me to the Promised Land. Freddie please tell Mother not to completely and utterly ruin my life. My futile attempts at seeking solace among my Christmas number one’s left me bereft of all hope. Even Mr McCartney and his Wings couldn’t offer me any respite and they’d been at number one forever.

‘Mull of Kintyre’ – Wings – Christmas number one for nine weeks – 1977.

My girlfriends and other animals

Boredom threshold was just about reaching its limit for a seven year old watching overweight office clerks shuffling around a field when hurtling towards me came a vision that would signal that monumental moment in all boys’ lives; tadpoles do in fact turn into frogs. As Gill from Accounts rose into the air clearing the oversized beer barrel with her newly adjoined twin, out they came. The theme tune to ‘It’s a knockout’ played from the monstrous metal tannoys, Stuart Hall couldn’t contain his laughter anymore and Eddie Waring punctuated the frivolity with ‘that’s a lovely up and under by Gill from accounts’. Bouncing up and down, side to side, free from years of male chauvinist restraint. Jellies on a plate, wibbling and wobbling, gasping for air. I was mesmerised by their power, their desire not to have me avert my gaze. They were crying out to me, engaging me in their silent communication. As Gill landed on the other side of the beer barrel out they came, her angel cakes, her baby pillows, her Betty and Wilma’s, my first glimpse of fully formed breasts reached out to me and begged for forgiveness. I ducked under the rope in an attempt to catch Gill and her metronomes but she and they were too fast. A Red Coat caught hold of me and told me to stay back as it wasn’t safe. WASN’T SAFE! This was my Shangri la, this was my moment of no turning back; this was his cue.

 ‘Hello my friend. I have waited a long time for you. Let us begin. So nice to have you at last. Shall we go?’

Back at the chalet of immeasurable fun Mother continued her monologue to Father that slouching was not acceptable and what would the neighbours think. Father was trying to finish his potato waffles whilst telling Mother we were in sodding Wales and if the neighbours could see him from their bedroom window then they’d be doing bloody well, sister had finished eating the buttons off the settee and I, well I was staring out of the chalet window overlooking the now deserted Donkey Derby Obstacle course, my once beautiful and unsullied mind now awash with images causing David Attenborough’s trousers to twitch and dance their own wondrous dance. Handel’s Hallelujah chorus drowned out Mother, Father and Sister now throwing up settee buttons. A smile, an epiphany, an enlightenment beamed across my face as the sun began to set and the last Donkey was led away back into its straw covered lorry.

My girlfriends and other animals

‘Welcome to Barry Island Butlins. You’ll be staying in Beige chalet number twenty nine. Just kidding, there’s no beige here. Red chalet number twenty nine located directly behind the donkey derby obstacle course. If you hurry you might just catch the three legged race for mums who want to have fun. Will you be participating madam?’ 

 ‘Drive on Denys’

Mother began to rewind the window as Father gently drove past the inanely grinning lady who oblivious to Mothers disdain continued with her over familiar and animated geniality. A knowing genuflection by Father at this deranged Cheshire cat of a woman alerted her that all was well despite the very real possibility of an horrendous death administered to her courtesy of Mother.  Window wound, we were trapped once more inside our volcano of torture. Donkey Derby?  What sort of language was this person dressed in red speaking of?  Ok, I knew what a donkey was and I had heard of Derby because Brian Clough was their manager but the two together, well it made no sense whatsoever.

Mother ushered Father laden with suitcases of varying shapes and size up the extraordinarily brightly coloured stairs venting her vitriol about the need for standards to be maintained even if he did think he was on holiday. Sister was by now fast asleep, one cheek super glued to the same sucker of human flesh that I had just retrieved my buttocks from and I was allowed to wander aimlessly and unnoticed towards the mysterious and unintelligible ‘Donkey Derby’.

Millions upon millions of people had gathered around a course made up of varying heights and levels of difficulty. The prelude to the main event, not that I knew what the main event was; a three legged race for women of child bearing age and hips. I pushed my way to the front and held on for dear life to a rope repelling the expectant throngs.

Now someone should have warned me there and then that my life was about to change forever, that innocence was about to be sodomised and buggered in equal measures, but my new friend wasn’t going to spoil the surprise by making his entrance too early, no, I would have to wait for that unwelcome pleasure.

Women of all shapes and sizes were shackled together giggling and looking paradoxically self- conscious as they approached the starting line that was to mark the beginning of the end for my innocence and a journey that would see the destruction of so many innocent lives. ‘Chirpy chirpy cheep cheep’ by Middle of the Road segued neatly into the main arena relegating any thought of tying Yellow ribbons round old Oak trees.

‘This is crazy in ‘it?’ giggled Gill from fourth floor accounts.

 ‘Absolute madness. If they could see me now they simply wouldn’t believe it’ chuckled Catherine from fifth floor photo copying.

‘Well we are on holiday. If we can’t let our hair down now when can we?’

‘You’re so right but I still think it’s just a little nuts – what a hoot’

‘On your Marks, Get Set, GO…’

And they were off, hurtling round the Donkey Derby obstacle course oblivious to the devastation they were about to cause this innocent of innocents. Saturday 14th June 1972 – 2:27pm.

My Girlfriends and other animals

Chapter One

The Donkey Derby

 Without a Christmas number one my life would be meaningless. I have them all. From the very first day my life changed forever. Vinyl discs of unlimited joy. They comfort me.

‘Long haired lover from Liverpool’ - Jimmy Osmond - Christmas number one for five weeks -1972.

Mother said I was ready.

 ‘Doesn’t he look lovely, it’s this month’s  colour. That Ted Heath’s got wonderful bone structure you know and what a fabulous chuckle. It’s more topaz than anything else. I’m thinking of having the kitchen done out in it’

            Mother dressed me in beige. Beige shirt, beige vest, beige socks, beige trousers, beige pants. I suppose I can count myself lucky that my lunar landscape had been lit up with the aid of a pair of my cousin’s orange Gola trainers. Were it not for them I would barely have been visible to the naked eye when clambering into the back seat of our mustard coloured Austin 1100.

Father sat motionless, a flaccid Park Drive hanging down from his lower lip; Sister gurgling to herself and dribbling Cow and Gate carrot and Beef Casserole; Mother her tube of Yardley Lavender hand cream firmly in hand, sucked in what little air remained from our oven on wheels and began to conduct Father through a maze of A roads and road side cafes, whilst lambasting him for slouching and not sitting up straight.We were leaving the safety of home and the threat of everything beige and heading to a world that laughed in the face of topaz. As Father remained silent whilst being berated for loosening his tie and removing his Harris Tweed sports jacket, Sister continued to regurgitate and Mother barked orders in between coming up from her Readers Digest, I tried to free myself from the one length leather back seat that my buttocks were sticking to, dressed as I was in my one hundred percent polyester David Attenborough Safari number that the manufacturers had neglected to install outlets for ventilation.

The sun shone directly into my eyes for the entire three hours and twenty seven minutes that it took Father to navigate his way to the Promised Land. A pained look of constipation etched itself across my creased and overheated face; the sun relentless in its disregard.

‘If you soil yourself again William…. Denys sit up straight’.

            Mother was far more anxious about the damage I may cause the polyester and what people might think if they caught a glimpse of Father not sitting at exactly ninety degrees than any overwhelming concern for the state of my bowels. As we entered through the towering gates I wound down my window and stuck my head out just enough to hear tranquillity shattered. Exhausted, a little constipated (as yet unsoiled) and with my arm about to drop off due to the exertion needed for operation window release, my ears were suddenly invaded by an overwhelming array of metal tannoys that sprouted from every tree and building flowering with the vigour afforded mother’s prize Begonias. Through these shatterers of silence came a man singing about tying a yellow ribbon round an old oak tree. People were swimming in a pool with windows built into the wall pressing their faces against the glass distorting their chlorine filled red eyes even more like seals desperate for their next meal. Children running free from parents who were otherwise preoccupied chasing men and women dressed in coats of Crimson. The lunatics had well and truly taken over the asylum. I had crossed the threshold into a world where normal service had been removed. Children’s utopia was alive and well and beige was on the list of things never to be mentioned. The sign by the pool side guided me to my new world order;

‘NO BOMBING OF FAT PEOPLE. NO HEAVY PETTING AND NO BEIGE...EVER!’

I like my mum

Me and My sister don’t see my dad ever again. I guess he didn’t run at a thousand miles per hour past the witch’s house at number eighty two. Me and my sister don’t see my mum ever again. I try and explain that the witch at number eighty two has stolen them but they don’t listen to me. Me and my sister lie down on the grass and let the sun wrap itself round our faces. I hold my sisters hand and whisper to her. They want to take us to the shops where we have to wait to be chosen like my sister and my best friend the black baby. My sister and me aren’t going back so we tell them we need to get our teddies and go upstairs. I hold my sister so tight and she looks into my eyes. We kiss each other and tears trace happy memories down our cheeks. We climb the bunk beds where we used to wake at three O’clock on Christmas morning with more excitement than the world. I wrap my snake belt around my sister’s neck and loop my pyjama cord around mine. They’ll understand that we didn’t want to go back and let us stay a little longer. My sister and me smile and hold hands. They said I wasn’t ready the first time when my mum bought us potato waffles but now it’s different.  I don’t know where my sister is but I know we’ll be playing on our orange space hopper with the growth coming out of its head soon. I can see my mum and my dad and uncle peter and aunty Sheila and Goody Putnam and everyone I’ve ever known. They look so small and fuzzy like the telly when the national anthem is played and the picture vanishes. My mum is still in Liptons buying Potato waffles and my best friend the black baby is smiling and playing with some lego. My dad is sitting in a room alone with his new best friend, Johnny Walker. One day they’ll understand why we didn’t want to go back to the shops. One day they’ll understand that I loved my mum more than Count Dracula lollies that make your tongue turn black. One day I know that they will love me as much as I love them.

 I love my mum she let me stay up and watch Dixon of Dock Green and eat after eight mints.

I like my mum

Freddie Fuller smells because he lives on the council and his mum doesn’t have a bath. Smelly Freddie doesn’t come to school very often but the police must be family friends as they are always round his house having some instant whip. I not only get to see Jenny Schneider’s front and back bottoms but the whole of year two, three and four. Goody Putnam got two black eyes from Gavin Savage because he didn’t knock my arm when I flicked my last marble. My Cousin John says I can have some Whisky. I say I don’t want any. I don’t know what it is anyway. My cousin John says if I don’t have some then I’m a girl. I don’t want to go through what my sister went though at the hospital so I have some Whisky. My Cousin John tells me he wants to go to a party and do I know of any. I can’t speak because my mouth’s on fire. Cousin John says I’m nearly a man now. I just have to tell him where a party is. I splutter that Benda Carter is having one with a clown. My Cousin John tells me to call her and ask if he can come too. When I ring Brenda her brother answers and says No Cousin John can’t come. Cousin John grabs the phone and says he’s coming round. Brenda’s brother says don’t you dare. Cousin John dares and we go round to Brenda’s. When Brenda opens the door Cousin John says he wants to see Brenda’s brother outside and promises not to use any ‘shooters’. Brenda’s mum calls the police and cousin John gets sent to his bedroom by the same man in a wig that told my mum off. When my mum gets home from being told off by the man in the wig she and my dad start singing and flinging their arms about. I can’t hear anything because I’m outside on the swing with my sister. It’s nice to see my mum and dad enjoying themselves again dancing and singing. My mum smashes a plate into my dad’s face and now blood is pouring out all over the kitchen. I wish I had been able to tell my dad where the gold was buried, before he had his face smashed in.

I like my mum

At Cub’s we have to skin a rabbit and catch a trout. Each Tuesday night we get to hit each other round the head with a rolled up newspaper and raise the Union Jack and sing a song for the Queen of England. My Neckerchief wasn’t straight so our six lost 2 marks. Peter Granger forgot his woggle, Pencil, paper and a clean handkerchief so his six lost all the points in the world. I tied a sling with a sheepshank and two half hitches and played British Bulldog. My six is white six, Steven Mudge is in Blue Six and he’s got his bronze, silver and gold award. I’ve only got my cooking badge, but the Duke of Edinburgh has made a badge for me if I climb a mountain and sleep under some leaves for a week. I think I’ll just try and get my cycling badge first. My mum puts her foot on the accelerator pedal and drives into the back of another car. Me and my sister fly through the air and hit the windscreen. The man on the path has a heart attack and the ambulance takes him to hospital. We don’t go to hospital because we haven’t had a heart attack. The man on the path dies and my Mum has to see a man in a wig who tells her off and she is sent to her bedroom for a very long time. I’ve got one marble left and I have to hit Wayne’s blood or else ‘I’m going to get a new name. I close my eyes and flick my last marble.